


to see the dawn

by wintersweather



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 06:38:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16080533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersweather/pseuds/wintersweather
Summary: the ones i love will be waiting at the end of the road





	to see the dawn

**Author's Note:**

> title/excerpt from the 1929 song "waiting at the end of the road" by ethel walters!
> 
> this is a direct sequel to my fic, [in my dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15223877)! reading that one first is more or less necessary in order to understand this one!

It started in the latter half of 1928, about a year after they had moved in together. 

The air was crisp, a light breeze gently knocking the orange leaves loose from the trees, floating to the ground. They couldn't hold hands overtly. Brian felt Pat's hand bump against his a few times, longing to grab it like he did when they were in their own home. Still, he smiled fondly up at Pat. 

It made his heart ache when he saw couples in public, young women with dark red lipstick, leaving kisses on their boyfriend's cheek, much to the displeasure of the older folks around. Brian wished for that - a simple distaste from others, rather than violence.

Pat didn't talk about it much, but Brian knew it bothered him, too. Pat already gained a lot of stares when he would go out; it turned out long hair wasn't too popular, even in New York City. 

Other than that, things had been going well for them. Brian had been hired full-time at The Plane Figure as a musician after he proved that he could pull a decent crowd. Pat's apprenticing had ran up and he found himself with a full-time inventor position under a different scientist. Together, they were getting by just fine.

They were almost home when Pat coughed up blood for the first time.

He looked as startled as Brian, the viscous crimson liquid a sharp contrast to his pale hands. Brian placed his hand hesitantly on Pat's back, guiding him inside.

"Are you okay?" He asked, shutting the door behind them and locking it. Pat ambled over to the couch, tugging a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping the blood off his palms.

Pat seemed shaken, but nodded. "Yes, I just - I don't know. Seasonal allergies, perhaps." He said, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.

Brian nodded back at him slowly, a slight inclination of his head. They shared a strange silence together, Brian biting his lower lip while he watched Pat. "Pat, I'm concerned." He said finally, sitting beside the older man.

Pat didn't look at him, focusing on the floorboards. Familiar. He remembered the day they moved in - it was a small house, but it was perfect for them. He felt a weight on his chest, somewhat related to the coughing fit, but also because he anticipated Brian's next words.

"Didn't our neighbor go to the sanitorium for coughing up blood, just months past?" Brian said softly, resting a hand on Pat's thigh, feeling the rough material of his trousers.

Pat sat up a fraction straighter. "He was sick. I'm not." He said, glancing at Brian. "Just allergies, my love."

Brian offered him a smile, trying his hardest to be convinced by Pat's words. "Okay." He answered, patting Pat's leg a little. Pat slid his hand under Brian's, intertwining their fingers.

"No need to worry." Pat said, and he believed it.

At least for a little while. 

\- - -

The second time it happened was the next week, late at night. 

It startled the both of them out of a peaceful sleep, Pat shaking hard as he struggled through the relentless hacks. Brian felt helpless, resting his hands on Pat's back and whispering to him, attempting to reassure him, tell him he was okay.

"I think I need to see a doctor." Pat said afterwards, voice ragged, breath coming in short gasps. 

 

Early that morning, they went to Dr. de Rochefort. She was a tall woman - both descriptors strange for a doctor in the area. She pursed her lips as she looked over Pat. "Coughing up blood, hm?" She asked.

"It's happened twice now." Pat answered, forcing the tremble out of his voice. "i've been known to have seasonal allergies, but-"

The doctor shook her head, holding up a finger. "This isn't allergies, sir. This is - well," She paused, eyebrows drawing together as her eyes flicked from Pat to Brian. "I'm almost certain it's tuberculosis."

Brian squeezed his eyes shut, willing a sob back. "No. With all respect, ma'am, you can't just _say_ that. It's not - it can't be-"

She sighed. "I'm sorry. We can run an X-ray just to confirm, but I don't think it's really necessary." She paused a moment, debating her next words. "It may be early enough to treat. I can get him a transfer to Seaview Hospital, at least." 

Brian fidgeted with the buttons on his jacket, glancing at Pat anxiously. Pat's face was blank, perhaps in shock. 

"He will die if left untreated, I can promise you that." Dr. de Rochefort continued, an air of pity in her voice. She apologized again, genuine.

Brian reached out and took Pat's hand. He didn't even care who saw them.

\- - -

Pat had been in Seaview for four months. 

Brian visited twice a week at the least, five times at the most. The receptionist, Allegra, smiled sadly up at him every time he approached the front desk to sign in. 

"Here for Patrick Gill?" She'd always ask, in a voice that teetered close to patronizing.

Brian would force a smile back. "Yes, of course." He'd answer, and she'd tell him where he was.

Pat was, for the most part, bedridden. The nurses rarely let him leave his bed, and when he did, it was to go stand outside for an hour or so to try and help his lungs. Brian would link his arm with Pat's, and they'd walk around the courtyard outside (with a doctor's permission) and talk, like nothing ever changed.

"It's awfully lonely at home without you." Brian said, sighing. "Charles misses you. He always liked you more."

Pat half-laughed, half-coughed. Brian couldn't remember the last time he heard Pat laugh loudly, and actual laugh. "I'm glad you're both doing well."

"It'd be better with you there." Brian sat down in the grass, helping Pat ease his way down beside him. He leaned back, staring up at the clouds.

Pat laid next to him, absently stroking his thumb across Brian's hand. The medical staff found them strange - that much, they both knew. Brian was too friendly to just be a friend, but unsuspecting enough to not seem like a lover. He was worried they'd treat Pat different if they knew. 

"The doctors said I haven't been getting any worse." Pat said, taking shallow breaths. He wasn't allowed to take deep breaths anymore. "I'm not getting any better, either."

Brian closed his eyes and took a deep enough breath for the both of them. He felt the sun, warm on his skin, shining behind his eyelids. He wished daily that he and Pat could stay here together forever, that he never had to leave Pat here. "Recovery is not linear." Brian answered.

"I fear I won't experience recovery, dear." Pat said matter-of-factly. He handled it like he handled everything else: calmly, dignified. 

It made Brian want to fall apart. "You will." He replied, mostly for himself.

The silence stretched between them for awhile. Brian knew his visit time was running thin already. 

"I wish I could marry you." Pat said, barely above a whisper. "Write you pretty vows, put a ring on your finger, kiss you in front of everyone. And we could take on the world together, change things."

Brian felt a lump in his throat. "We can take on the world, Pat. We are."

"No, we can't. Because I'm here." Pat answered, squeezing Brian's hand.

Brian hadn't realized Pat was crying until he glanced over at him. "You'll be out before you know it."

"I hope so."

\- - -

By the time he had been in for a year, Pat looked as sick as he felt.

He had lost a lot of weight, seeming smaller now in his hospital bed than he ever had before. His face was gaunt, dark bags beneath his eyes and a sallow complexion. At some point, his hair was cut: not extremely short, but shorter than Brian had ever seen it.

Pat wasn't allowed outside anymore. Brian was told he was unable to walk. They left him in bed in front of the window in a last-ditch effort.

It was becoming apparent to the both of them that the curtains were drawing to a close. Still, Pat smiled just as bright as ever when Brian came to visit. They would sit and watch the birds and talk, holding hands when possible.

They hadn't kissed in a year. Brian was too scared to try, even when they had moments alone.

"They told me I'd be lucky to make it to Christmas today." Pat spoke up, his voice rough. He kept his eyes fixed forward, avoiding Brian's gaze.

Brian knew it was coming, but he had been hoping to at least ring in 1930 with him, at the very least. He felt dread settle in his stomach. "How do you feel about that?" He ventured. Pat had a tendency to keep his feelings bottled up.

Pat shrugged a bony shoulder. "It's okay. I don't know the protocol for dealing with this sort of stuff." He smiled a little.

"Are you scared?" Brian asked, the thought breaking his heart.

"Yes." Pat replied, finally making eye contact. "I think I should be."

Brian searched Pat's eyes behind his spectacles. His heart was in his guts somewhere, struggling to beat. "I'll miss you."

Pat smiled again, a little wider this time, but his eyes were sad. "You know? I only have one regret." He said, reaching out a hand.

Brian took it in his own. It was cold. "What's that?"

"Not meeting you sooner." 

Brian kissed him then, feather-light on Pat's cracked lips. "You'll make me cry." Brian huffed, trying a smile on return. "We shouldn't be mourning yet."

Pat closed his eyes, resting back on his pillow. "You shouldn't be mourning ever. I want you to be happy."

"You're why I'm happy." Brian blinked back tears.

"That's not true. All you need is yourself to be happy, darling. It's all you've ever needed. I was just along for the ride."

Brian opened his mouth to answer right as Allegra told him it was time to go.

\- - - 

Patrick Gill passed away on January 2nd, 1930.

They got to say goodbye, a luxury very few got when their loved one was ill. Brian went home the morning of the 1st, and and 24 hours later, Pat was gone.

Brian held a small, informal memorial service inside The Plane Figure after closing the following Friday. They were the closest thing Pat had to family in New York.

Seaview had Brian come collect Pat's things: books and trinkets and other small projects he had been working on while bedridden. Brian felt more like a ghost than Pat probably did at the moment.

He shelved Pat's books when he got home, as Charles supervised. He flipped through binders of loose leaf paper, mostly covered in doodles and faint sketches. Sometimes he would recognize self-portaits; sometimes, drawings of Brian. Brian tried to not let his tears hit the paper.

In the back of the binder was another piece of paper, rolled up with a black metal ring holding it closed. His hands shook as he slid the ring off, opening the creased paper. Brian knew Pat's handwriting anywhere:

_keep changing the world. i'm right there with you._  
\- pat  
(p.s. i can't wait to see you again!) 

There was a tiny heart drawn beneath the postscript. Brian hesitantly put the ring on his left ring finger, feeling the cool metal against his skin. 

For a fleeting moment, it felt like Pat was right there beside him.

**Author's Note:**

> BET YOU THOUGHT I WAS NEVER GONNA ACTUALLY WRITE THE SEQUEL
> 
> i'm really proud of this work ???
> 
> twitter: estcryptid  
> tumblr: easterntimecryptid


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